Hear You Me
by Burning 'Til There's Dark Blue
Summary: Humans can only last so long before they snap. When they do, there is a domino effect. Based off the song Hear You Me by Jimmy Eat World. Tag to 1x13 Missing and 1x15 The Bank Job
1. Harmonica

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Spoilers: **1x13 _Misssing, _1x15 _The Bank Job._

*~*~*

Based off of the song _Hear You Me _by Jimmy Eat World

*~*~*

She doesn't know why, but hearing the harmonica is what finally sets her off.

After everything that's happened in the past month, the familiar, buzzing notes are what send her over the edge. And she has to do something; she can't just sit there, pretending she doesn't hear the harmonica. So she storms upstairs, anger keeping her moving. And it's not just anger that someone she trusts would steal – secret borrowing, she corrects herself – something that normally would be trivial. It's anger for her father – she still doesn't know what happened to him, for Dom – he shouldn't have disappeared off the face of the earth, for G – he finally finds his little sister and she's killed. So the anger propels her forward, up the stairs, and with each step she wants to scream, to rip her hair out, to just explode, but she doesn't because she doesn't want to seem insane.

She finds the perpetrator and she sees the fear glint in his eyes as he tries to explain what he is doing. She won't have any of it. She takes the harmonica back, and leans on the windowsill.

She doesn't know what happens, but suddenly she can't stop talking as she tells him about her father. And Titanic. It seems strange that she, of all people, still loves one of the most romantic movies of all time. And she finishes her story, listens to his comments, responds, and walks away, the anger in her footsteps replaced with a 13-year-old grief.

She puts a sign on the box, a warning, and hopes that people will pay attention to it. "Do Not Touch – This Means You!" should get the message across. She makes sure the harmonica is safe before going off on a quest for coffee. Coffee is going to lead to her death one of these days; that, or breakfast burritos.

*~*~*

That night, only a minute after getting home, she finally explodes.

Wordless cries lead to her picking up a plate that she has no use for and throwing it against the wall. It shatters on impact, and suddenly she wants everything destroyed. It is the shattering porcelain that causes her to finally lose control.

She doesn't hear the door open, as she is too busy attacking her kitchen cabinets, but he grabs her wrists, preventing her further destruction of the dishes in her home. Instinctively, she fights, but it's a losing battle.

Breathing heavily, she lowers her arms. Says something about the Lakers game. He points out that it's midnight, that someone's going to call the cops if she doesn't stop her tantrum, and that her hands are bleeding.

She gives up. She turns around, leaning against him, and lets the grief take over.

He doesn't say a thing. He rarely does.

*~*~*

She calls in sick the next morning. She can't be around anyone. Besides, her hands look like she was attacked with a can opener, her head hurts, and she has three very painful bruises on her abdomen.

He promises to bring her coffee.

*~*~*

**A/N: **This is what I do during poetry class. Review?


	2. Fuel

**A/N: **Written in less than 30 minutes during Language Arts.

*~*~*

Emotions are the most powerful fuel, when you consider their ability to both destroy and create. There are the primary emotions; grief, love, happiness, and fear, and the secondary emotions; sadness, anger, and ecstasy. The most powerful are fear, anger, and love, which tend to merge together.

She wants to say that the destruction of her kitchen was pure, unadulterated rage, that she had nothing else she could do. But $100 worth of damage later and she doesn't know why she's doing it anymore. She's glad she isn't a pyromaniac, or a lot more than a bunch of cheap plates would be destroyed.

He stops her from destroying the plates, and stays up all night holding her wrists to keep her from destroying anything else. And when he leaves in the morning, she is calm, and so she waits. She eventually makes her way back to the kitchen, and 30 minutes later is still cleaning up. The radio is playing, and her stomach hurts too much to be doing anything.

The radio makes the mistake of repeating, almost nonchalantly, the 2-week-old missing person's report, and quickly finds itself thrown against the wall, shattered in a million pieces. She feels sorry for the wall, but as long as she's this angry, she can't really do anything.

*~*~*

She goes outside only to go to 7-11 to get band-aids for her hands and Aleve for her stomach. Somehow, this leads to buying Vault and chocolate ice cream. She is at the checkout counter, counting her money, when a man shoves her aside. He has a gun. Demands money.

For the third time, she snaps.

*~*~*

She is sitting just beyond the crime scene tape, drinking her Vault and watching the paramedics prepare the would-be robber for transport to the hospital. The robber chose the wrong time to rob the store. He ends up with a broken arm, three broken ribs, a concussion, and internal bleeding from being shot in the leg.

She has a scrape on her arm from running into the brick wall as she dragged the robber outside.

A familiar car pulls up and she waves at the occupants as they get out and survey the scene. She is still sitting, attempting to eat her ice cream before it melts, but it's a lost cause.

She tells them what happened and they both laugh. As if they expect anything else from her.

He pulls her to her feet, tells her she's earned un-melted ice cream. She laughs, following him as they walk across the street to the ice cream store, both unaware that they are holding hands.

*~*~*

The man is arrested, and threatens to press charges.

She just laughs, sitting on the bench at the beach, eating ice cream as she listens to the story.

He doesn't spare any details, as he is the reason the man wants to press charges. But it'll make a funny story one of these days.

*~*~*

**A/N: **What I do instead of reading The Odyssey. Review?


	3. Timepiece

**A/N: **This paper was supposed to be my work on genetics.

*~*~*

When she finds his watch underneath the pile of folders, she tries very hard not to scream. It's not an expensive watch. It's scratched up, with faux gems instead of numbers, made of some strange metal.

She stares at it for a full minute, as if it will explode if she looks away. In a way, the watch being there, on her desk, gives her some strange new hope. He isn't completely gone.

The watch is huge, falling down her wrist until her hand stops it. But it seems safer to have the oversized watch on her wrist, despite the fact that it seems like it will fall off. It's one of the few things that still give her hope.

*~*~*

When she drives home, she keeps getting distracted by the sun glinting off the watch. Like a sundial, it seems to get brighter and dimmer as the sun sinks below the horizon. She keeps driving, unsure of where she is going until she pulls into the parking garage, into the space that the owner of the watch left 2 weeks ago, without knowing that he may never come home. She gets out of the car, walking blindly to the building, focusing on the watch. Inanimate object that it may be, it gives her hope, a sort of psychic link to its owner.

She runs her hands along the top of the doorframe until she finds the key, then uses it to unlock the door.

It is cold, dusty, and most of the items in the house are in boxes. His family has been here.

She walks into the bedroom, looking around. His presence still fills the room, and grief yet again rears its ugly head, tearing her heart up into millions of pieces. Sighing, choking back a sob, she climbs onto the bed. She sits Indian-style, looking at her hands, the cuts from the porcelain still lining them; they are fresh, ugly wounds. If she is lucky, the scars will be faint. But she is rarely if ever lucky.

She looks at the watch, more out of habit. The time is wrong, very wrong. There is no way it is 2:05 A.M.

She leaves, making sure the door is locked.

*~*~*

Once she sets the watch to the right time, she never takes it off. At least, she doesn't take it off if she has to.

Her hands never really heal because she doesn't let them, because she picks at the scabs. The scars are red, angry lines that tell her story. And she accepts this. She'll let her hands heal when everything is back to normal.

It never will be. She knows it.

The watch keeps ticking, counting down the time until he comes home.

*~*~*

**A/N: **My biology teacher is mad that I wrote this instead of doing my work on genetics.


	4. Insomnia

**A/N: **Loosely based off of _The Funeral _by Band Of Horses. But shh, I'm not supposed to be on the computer's guest account. O.o

*~*~*

She can't sleep anymore.

She can, technically, but the moment she slips into REM, nightmares attack her unconscious mind, plaguing her mind with images of what could have been and what might be. It makes it all but impossible to sleep, especially when she wakes up screaming.

So she resorts to coffee. First, it's just one or two cups of light, sweetened coffee in the morning. It soon becomes half a dozen cups of black coffee just to keep her standing.

Then comes the day there is none left.

By the time she drags herself to work, she is almost literally a dead man – well, woman – walking. Her hair is a mess, there are bags under her eyes, her clothes are loose and don't match, and her hands are visibly shaking from exhaustion.

She makes it to her chair, but she can't remember what she was going to do. Exhaustion does not treat her well.

She nearly passes out trying to walk up the stairs, but decides it's not worth mentioning.

When she starts to see auras around everything is when she decides that nightmares or not, she needs to sleep. She announces this, but her speech is slurred and she can barely keep her eyes open anymore.

*~*~*

She doesn't trust herself to drive, so he drives her home.

She dozes in and out of light sleep on the ride home, and is incapable of conversation or movement by the time they arrive at her apartment.

He carries her up the stairs as if she is a sleeping child. Her arms are wrapped around his neck and her legs are around his waist. He decides not to comment on this, as she is going to be out cold any minute now.

She wakes up long enough to open the door, but she barely has enough energy to do such a menial task.

He has to help her take off her shoes and jacket, and she can't do anything else.

He actually tucks her in bed, and is about to leave when in a moment of lucidity she begs him to stay.

He asks her why. She says to fight off the nightmares.

So he pulls off his shoes and crawls into bed next to her. She curls up against his chest and falls asleep.

*~*~*

For the first time in a week, there are no nightmares.

*~*~*

**A/N: **I walked into the antique trunk thing my parents have by their bed and now my leg hurts. Review?


	5. Fight

**A/N:** Somehow this turned into a really messed up romance story… well, then.

*~*~*

It is what she does best. A way for her to escape from the anguish that comes with waiting. And so, that is what she does. Fighting is a release, and so she faces him as they circle each other.

The difference between fighting and sparring is that with fighting there is only the need to cause more pain than is inflicted on you, and with sparring it is merely a test of skills.

They circle each other in a strange dance, adrenaline replacing blood. She can feel The Others watching her, cheering - they need to see this too.

He smirks, thinking he'll win, and she lunges.

They hold onto each other's arms, bracing themselves with every step. With one fluid motion, he spins her around, has her in a headlock. She elbows him hard in the ribs, and uses the momentary loosening of his grip to slide out of his arms. He tries to grab her arms once more but she throws him to the ground. He tries to get up and she pins him down, straddling his chest with her hands on his shoulders.

He tells her that she wins.

She smiles and says that she knows.

*~*~*

She wants to say that the feelings she has for him are due to their current, awkward positioning, but her conscience fights back, telling her not to lie to herself. Separate parts of her mind fight for different things.

She wants to tell him she loves him. To take advantage of the position that they're in, even though a half-dozen pairs of eyes are watching them.

And then The Others are not there.

*~*~*

She pulls him up so that he is sitting up. She is still sitting on his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

They ignore the others, who are watching in a mix of shock and amusement. She wraps her arms around his neck and they kiss, their lips parting.

*~*~*

They end up in her apartment 15 minutes later, having left work immediately after the sparring incident.

Through gasped breaths they promise not to tell anyone about this.

*~*~*

The Others all promise not to tell The Director. This is something that only a few select people are allowed to know, including their Diminutive Yet Terrifying leader, their Computer Hacker, their Mind Reader, and their Agents.

*~*~*

She tells him that she loves him.

*~*~*

**A/N: **I don't know how this story turned into a romance, but it did, even though the next chapter actually had me crying as I wrote it… be warned.


	6. Rainstorm

**A/N: **I was crying when I wrote this. That's all I have to say.

*~*~*

Based off _My Immortal (Band Version) _by Evanescence

*~*~*

It is raining when they all get the news. The water is striking at the glass, lightning flashing across the sky.

She is fiddling with that damned watch, not paying attention to anything, when their Diminutive Yet Terrifying Leader walks in.

She remembers listening, remembers the icicles that begin in her heart and soon envelop every nerve. Heartbroken doesn't even begin to cover how she feels. Her heart feels like it has been torn from the fragile stitching already holding it together by some sharp-clawed demon, while acid and ice replace her blood.

She can't breathe. Her lungs are being attacked by the same demon.

And yet she finds that she can scream in denial and grief.

She can't stop screaming. Can't stop crying.

The tears are here, pouring down her face in an effort to mimic the rain outside.

He puts a hand on her shoulder, but she is screaming, crying. She breaks out of his grasp, unsure of what to do.

So she runs.

*~*~*

She stumbles over her own two feet, running as fast as she can towards who knows where, trying not to drown in the rainwater. She hopes nobody's gone after her because they will never find her.

She ends up on the beach, with the storm going full force around her, mimicking her emotions. The rain is pouring down in torrents, yet twirling in circles due to the wind. The black rainclouds are being ripped apart by the flashing purple, blue, and gold lightning. The Pacific – she remembers it meaning Peaceful – is now churning in waves and foam, threatening to engulf her and drown her, mirroring Charybdis and the Straits of Messina.

She faces the ocean, considering, just for a second, walking out into the current.

She has only taken three steps when some brute force – she doesn't see who it is – comes out of nowhere and tackles her to the ground.

He begs her not to do this, while holding her down, and she can only cry as he sits up and pulls her into his arms, trying to keep her calm, but he knows it won't work.

*~*~*

The nightmares return with a vengeance, her inner voice screaming at her for not doing anything, not searching harder, and telling her she should have done something.

He makes her take the week off, as she is in no state to go to work.

She needs to grieve but she wants so badly to fight. To kill the bastards that did this, make their physical pain match her emotional pain.

She knows it won't work and that hurts her even more than the fact that Dom is dead.

*~*~*

**A/N: **I'm so tired right now that I'm seeing stuff. Benadryl plus 3 hours sleep doesn't work well.


	7. Retribution

**A/N: **Alas, the beginning of the end…

*~*~*

It takes 1 week, 2 days, 3 hours, 5 minutes, and 27 seconds (according to The Watch) to track down the bastards who have made their way to her otherwise blank list of people she needs to kill in some horrible manner. They're in Colombia, they think they're safe, but the moment she finds them she buys a plane ticket to Bogotá, and before anyone can stop her she is gone.

He buys a ticket on the same flight and runs after her, desperate to stop her. He wants them dead, too, but Interpol has already been contacted.

She is on the plane when he finds her, and due to bribery and a few lies they end up sitting next to each other on the 10-hour flight.

*~*~*

They arrive in Bogotá and he immediately starts dragging her to the counter to buy tickets back to Los Angeles. But another rainstorm has come up and all the flights to and from L.A. have been canceled.

She wants to "talk" to the men, and drags him out of the airport.

*~*~*

He is worse off than her during the walk to the address that only she knows, partly because she could easily pass as Hispanic, whereas it is obvious he is American.

But somehow they get there.

She makes him wait outside.

There is instantaneous machine gun fire, and then five solo shots during the machine gun's steady beat. When that stops, there are three more clean shots.

She walks out smelling like gunpowder and copper.

*~*~*

They spend the rest of the day enjoying the city scenery, and at night end up in a cheap hotel near the U.S. Embassy.

*~*~*

Their kisses start out gentle; each are unsure of what is going on, but they quickly become more and more passionate.

One thing leads to another

*~*~*

They make love in a hotel no American has ever heard of, and neither of them are ashamed of what happens.

*~*~*

They fly home the next day.

*~*~*

**A/N: **Damn it, now I have to write a funeral chapter.


	8. Funeral

**A/N: **The end…

*~*~*

_There's no one in town I know_

_You gave us some place to go._

_I never said thank you for that._

_I thought I might get one more chance._

_What would you think of me now?_

_So lucky, so strong, so proud?_

_I never said thank you for that,_

_Now I'll never have a chance._

*~*~*

She notices everything about that day, letting it sear into her mind.

She wears flip-flops with a black suit, her hair pulled into a ponytail. She is wearing a fedora, if only because it seems the right thing to do for some odd reason.

The grass is cool and wet with morning dew as she walks towards the mahogany coffin adorned with what seems like hundreds of flowers. There are dozens of people she realizes must be the deceased's family.

She goes to stand with the small group of people that she knows. She can hear the hush fall over the group as she arrives and goes to stand next to him.

He slips his had into hers as they watch their Diminutive Yet Terrifying Leader prepare to say a eulogy. She fights back the tears, her heart feeling like ice. He squeezes her hand, sensing her anguish. She looks up at him and sees the shining tears in his own eyes that are threatening to overflow.

The eulogy is longer than expected, but it finishes, and the crowd seems to disperse instantaneously.

She notices the rose in her hand for the first time since she arrived, which she has squeezed so hard the thorns have broken her skin. She sighs, then walks forward, placing the rose among the many others.

*~*~*

_May angels lead you in._

_Hear you me my friends._

_On sleepless roads the sleepless go._

_May angels lead you in._

_So what would you think of me now,_

_So lucky, so strong, so proud?_

_I never said thank you for that,_

_Now I'll never have a chance._

_May angels lead you in._

_Hear you me my friends._

_On sleepless roads the sleepless go._

_May angels lead you in._

_May angels lead you in._

_May angels lead you in._

_*~*~*_

Another hour finds her sitting at her desk, angrily picking at the scabs on her hands. The Watch is cold against her skin. Just like-

She pushes the thought out of her mind, wincing as she draws blood.

The crimson drops are running down her hand, avoiding the muscles and ligaments. She turns her hand to watch the blood run down the lines on her palm. Life line, heart line, head line, and all the others in between are stained red.

She knows there is a meaning to the lines, but she can't remember the exact meanings. Just the names.

He sits down on her desk, blue eyes filled with more concern than she would have believed possible. She meets his gaze, biting her lip.

She admits that she wants to go back in time, not to stop this from happening because that would mess with the space-time continuum and she doesn't want to destroy the entire universe, but because she never got a chance to say thank you.

*~*~*

_And if you were with me tonight,_

_I'd sing to you just one more time._

_A song for a heart so big,_

_God wouldn't let it live._

*~*~*

She vows that one day she will recover.

As soon as she lets her hands heal.

*~*~*

_May angels lead you in._

_Hear you me my friends._

_On sleepless roads the sleepless go._

_May angels lead you in._

_May angels lead you in._

_Hear you me my friends._

_On sleepless roads the sleepless go._

_May angels lead you in._

_May angels lead you in._

*~*~*

**A/N:** …Done.


End file.
